Put the Needle Down.

I woke up and realized that I had never really been; that all of that rhetoric in my dreams possibly warranted a bit more consideration than the re telling of said dream/s over a cup of black tea and a still sleepy unresponsive but trying very hard to appear other wise spouse, (poor Matt.) To get on with it... I am in a black ocean in a desolate room, from the waist up, I have nothing on and cannot feel or see anything from the waist down that is in the water, of myself anyhow; what I do see are hundreds of levels of water, various light and depths that would not correlate with nature but house millions of "ghosts/things/creatures". When I say this, I mean everything from the 2 aborted children I may have had to odd marine life, to things I refused to eat as a child, to faint apparitions of my Mother. (No wait, mother, she doesn't get capitalized, EVER.)

I am feeling nothing and everything. A wolf swims out to me, my wolf; my white wolf that has replaced my white rabbit in reoccurring dreams I had in the past for years. He has made an appearance in the last hand full of dreams I have had in the past few months and I almost determine that I am in one from his presence alone. He is effortless; he slides underneath my arm and begins to lead me away from the middle of this room ocean to a long hall way, what must be my foot grazes a tiger shark as the wolf pulls me away. Down the hallway we float, with endless door options, my wolf looks at me and I open the door we are in front of. My Dad is in the room holding a glowing blue sphere. He looks illuminated from the inside. My Dad looks up and smiles, and places the sphere in my hands and disappears. I am now clothed in this blue glow, the sphere turns to hypodermic needles, I drop it, and they float to a corner of the room that is darkened. There is a form, but I cannot make it out. The needles seem to be hovering and waiting their turn. I hear a slight exhale; I look at my wolf and his eyes are filled with Aslam like knowing and I move forward a bit. It's my Mom, the real one. She is becoming smaller every time a needle goes in to her skin. She looks like a deflated moss covered kick ball with thousands of needles protruding from every where. The needles from the sphere wait in turn to puncture her, but instead of her usual MO with needles, these are delivering nothing but taking away. She won't look at me. She seems to be in an inhumanely amount of pain and is bleeding profusely, silently crying and appears to have been this way for a long time. She endures this as if she was meant to, and rightfully so. She seems to embrace every biblical female horror with an Argento twist. I feel nothing. At least that's what I want to exude, but to no avail, I m silently crying. I am feeling something other than what I have had on reserve for her and I feel as though I am betraying myself. My wolf nudges me to her, looks up at me and without thinking, I put my hand out as to receive change at a store and the sphere of needles hover above my hand and then dissipate. Debra, stigmata, broken Type we'll never know is healing. All of her wounds, past and recently inflicted are healing, she never looks up but I know she wants too, or maybe I just hope that she does.Her blood is seeping back into her body, the bruises are going away, she is being invisibly stitched up, she is changing. I am filled with the notion that she never wanted to be what she was but drowned in the easiness of it and would have been what she was suppose to have been to be if she were capable. Before I can touch her, my wolf pushes against my legs and we head toward the door. There is a static wind at the doorway and as I disappear into it, my wolf bites the doorknob to my mom's room and pulls it shut. I know what this is and cannot believe that it is here. I never thought it would arrive. Ever. I can breathe in a way I never thought possible. However fleeting it may be, it was here for a moment and that will always equate to better than never for me.